Introspection
by Worriors1
Summary: Duo story involving musings of C.C. and V.V. - what is life, and what to do with time?
1. Picking

Hey everyone! Want to watch my go at fail philosophy? Kidding, kidding! I hope you enjoy this, however OoC it may be. Both of these were written on a fairly thin whim, so... Do forgive me if I screw up horribly, but I would greatly appreciate reviews and tips from my fellow FFauthors!

**Theme: **The wonderings of immortals, time and life, existance.

**Characters: **C.C. and V.V., our resident immortals of Code Geass.

**Couples: **If you're really looking for one, I'm sure you could get C.C. & V.V. as one in the second part.

* * *

C.C. sometimes wonders what being alive really means.

It normally depends on what you call life in the first place, she supposes. You could say, "I'm breathing, I have a pulse… Therefore I most certainly can't be dead." Or, you could say, "I feel, therefore I must be living."

What's feeling though? Is it any different than just living?

C.C. says it's all the same. Scarred, citrus eyes looking over her hands in the bright sun; delicate, clean, but the faint phantoms of cuts and hard work are always there in her eyes. She's the only one who lived through a near-eternity of Hell, after all. Why would she expect someone else to understand?

Of course, there are always other immortals somewhere in the world. She always fancied the idea that there are always two of everything – even when that's a lie.

Even if it was true, she knew that her only companions would be very much younger than her.

Life wasn't fair.

Oh, see? I said it, she thought to herself, a smirk creeping its way across pale lips, a soft gloss on them. Certainly, I must be alive if I can call life 'unfair.' she thinks again.

It's a lie in her heart though.

You can call something on your conscience, but you know your heart knows it best.

Even C.C. knew that, in her vast, infinite years of wisdom – bested only by the sister that spent such a short, but valued time with her.

She sighed, tossing vibrant hair back behind her shoulder, a slight annoyance gnawing at her, an aggravation prodding and poking… She returned to plucking the blush-toned, almost perfect roses with sharp tugs and pulls, placing them within the wicker basket at her side.

It wasn't the time for reminiscence. So what if her partner was dead? Wasn't she still here? Still alive? Unlike so many other people?

That's a lie too.

She was dead the first time she died. It wasn't worth it… wasn't worth it. No, no, no…

It seemed like it the first time, but after the third, she realized it would just never end. Beaten, battered, burned, stabbed, crushed, ripped apart, experimented on, bound, gagged, hung, strung over horrified spectators, and alone.

And until she could lose any attachment to the poor souls that looked to her for guidance, for help, for life…

Irony was her best friend, where else do you think she got such a dry wit and sharp tongue? It loved company just as much as misery did, and C.C. was happy to comply with such a quiet companion that voiced everything through action.

It brought a lot of suffering, but when you saw it happen to someone else, C.C. instead found herself laughing at its cruelty, not batting an eye except for when she began to cry from laughing so hard.

She wasn't frozen, they were just people she hadn't baited to be her replacement.

Glancing down at the basket, she realized how torn some of the roses were, and frowned at her own mistake. How could she let something like memories ruin her good day?

Honestly, the sun shone a little brighter, the grass was a bit greener, the birds sang and swooned like passionate lovers, and she didn't think about that boy, or the orphaned Chinese, or the fiery young lady that fought so hard for something she couldn't win, or that knight who seemed to back stab anyone whom he got the chance to.

Taking the few that were ruining an otherwise good batch, she told herself she would just go and leave them on some poor Australian fellow's grave…

After all, her home in Britannia was only temporary. Who said she wouldn't take advantage of the wonderful house the young man had bought?

Yes, she thought, I must truly have a life everyone wants. I have endless time, I have no fears of death, but I welcome an embrace… Men who desire such know not what they ask. Even I have come to regret asking for my ability in the first place, and to trick someone I may care about into taking the same fate…

Irony and I are not very good friends, it seems; she finished. Staring forlornly at the red rose in her hand. Had she really come this far since the pink ones?

I can miss people, but I cannot end my own suffering at their cost… She figures, fingers pressing harder into the sharp stem of the rose, the flower of love and courage, will and passion…

She winced and jerked her hand away at the surprise of a sudden pain in her fingers, crimson blood slowly dripping out of a thin cut from a thorn.

Oh, they weren't thornless?

"Never mind that…" She whispered, wiping some of the scarce liquid onto the bleached sundress.

I must be more human than I thought. Even a monster feels compassion,

But only a human bleeds.


	2. Thinking

V.V. realized that, with all of the time in the world, even immortals get bored.

What is there to do? You could do anything. Start a revolution ( But that idea seemed to fail more often than not…), work on that one masterpiece (That wouldn't last as long as you.), fight until you can't fight anymore (But what would be the point?), or, you could do what he did.

Sit with his chin rested in his palms, practicing giving himself scoliosis. Bored eyes staring out past the pillars of the too gold, too Roman construction called the Sword of Akasha.

'Kill God' he said sixty years ago… What an ambition, surely that would take a lifetime? No, only fifteen minutes, give or take the fact such a divine entity would surely catch on and stop it from happening, right?

Over such a small lie?

He wondered if it was worth it, to destroy the world for revenge, or to bring people away from their lies and masks… Wasn't it made the way it was supposed to be?

No, it was that wreched woman that caused it all, wasn't it?

Who was he kidding, who can you blame for something like this? You could back track, and say "It was the one who killed my mother" but then they could retort – "But it could never be my fault, I am but man!" and it would simply racquet back and forth, growing more and more troublesome by the minute.

Which brought him to another thought, did he have another reason for killing the 'sweet' woman called Queen? Or was it all jealousy, and greed? Wouldn't that, in turn, make him as bad as the thing he was trying to get rid of in the first place?

No, not the woman, the concept: the idea of lying and masks and sinning.

So, he thought, so, so, so. I have put myself into the exact thing I had been trying to remove.

He pouted. Squinting his eyes against the midday sun, clear blue sky spanning across the villa that he was nestled almost-contently-but-not-really in.

V.V., you digressed again, he thought harshly, reaching for a cup of lemonade and sipping it.

"Then, when did it start?" He muttered, setting the cup down and spinning little circles on the table with his small fingers.

It started when time began. That's all there was to it.

And when time began, the world fell into disarray and disorder. And he wasn't going to blame it on the woman this time. Even the woman had her merits, right?

He bit his lip.

"Did it again." He mumbled quietly, this time less harsh than before.

He pulled his mind from the subject of blame, that's not how his thinking began; it shouldn't end that way too.

With all of this time, what did he want to do with it? That was the question. He had already seen more than sixty years of people working with the time given to them, sometimes failing to complete their goal… And then there was still those whom history had been kind to remember, they spent their time exploring, conquering, thinking, building, rising up and crashing back down, all with the same fervor as the day before.

"Hmmn." V.V. stood up, walking to the edge of the porch and stepping lightly down the steps, his hair sweeping behind him. It was another thing he had dared himself to do in his endless amounts of boredom – why not see how long you can get your hair?

Although, what he would do afterward was unknown, he would decide when he got sick of the unneeded weight.

Raising an eyebrow thoughtfully, he walked a bit towards the garden that was off to his left, a brick archway showing the entrance.

Surely there was someone more experienced to answer his question, and he always knew just the person. Even the rather frayed relationship was held together by small wires of just simple experiences – watching the sun rise, eating out when they got sick of the lovey-dovey couple, standing out in the middle of a downpour because they knew even if they got struck by lightning, it most certainly wouldn't kill them… heck, he was pretty sure they just did stupid things in general because they _could_, and he admitted that those were some of the best moments in his droll life, when he forgot what he was going to do afterward, and instead understood the true meaning of time, and the value of this day and the next.

Leaning over the short oak gate within the arch, he peered around for a second, resting on his arms until he saw who he was looking for amidst the array of flora and fauna of every rose known to man.

"If man had as much time as us, what would he do with it, C.C.?"


End file.
